


Versus

by Peanutbutterer



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluffiness, also cuteness, and dorkiness, because well, flufforama, it's these two idiots what do you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 05:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13404177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanutbutterer/pseuds/Peanutbutterer
Summary: Chat opens his mouth to refute her statement but can't think of a single example. There was the time that she-- no. Or the other day when they-- no, not that either. That thing with the--damn it. “Well,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster, “you're wrong now.”





	Versus

“You're wrong.”

Ladybug snorts, which is actually quite a feat considering he passed ‘out of breath’ about five minutes ago. “What are the odds of that being the case?”

Chat opens his mouth to refute her statement but can't think of a single example. There was the time that she-- no. Or the other day when they-- no, not that either. That thing with the-- _damn it_. “Well,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster, “you're wrong now.”

She dodges left, narrowly missing a flying tomato. “I'm definitely not.”

He takes a rotten eggplant to the chest. It splats right in his sternum and oozes down the front of his suit. He resists the urge to facepalm. Heaven forbid he retain a modicum of dignity.

Ladybug’s grinning. He doesn’t even have to look at her face to know it.

Thanks, bad luck. You’re a real pal.

“Werewolves have super strength,” she argues, and she totally _is_ grinning. He can hear it in her bright, cheery voice as she ducks behind a nearby dumpster.

He follows and tucks in beside her, settling into a crouch. He swipes his gloved hand down his chest to try and brush off some purpley brown ooze. Mostly it just smears it around.

And now it’s on his hand too. Excellent. “Vampires have super speed.”

“Yeah, so they can run away faster.”

She’s not even breathing heavily. Here he is panting like an octogenarian after ten flights of stairs. He’s going to have to up his cardio regime. “They can turn into bats.”

“And fly away? Also used only in escape.” She sticks her head up just long enough to yell, “Hey, Grosser, I think I see some bruised apples back here!” and duck back down.

There’s a distant screech followed by several thuds as wet produce hits the front of their hiding spot.

Chat pops up with a grin. “Missed me!”

A grapefruit flies toward him and he drops back down, his shoulder brushing hers as he slides into a crouch. Thundering steps shake the ground as the akumatized man lumbers toward them.

Chat turns to look at her. “Vampires live forever.”

“But they never see the sun, so are they really living?” Sunlight sparkles in her eyes as if to prove her point. Of course it does. Why wouldn’t it? Does it matter that they’re hiding in the shadow of a giant trash receptacle? Nope. Nope, it doesn’t.

“Yeah, well,” he says eloquently.

Her sparkling eyes meet his and she nods once at him and then again behind him. On his answering nod they both burst up, Ladybug going right and Chat to the left. The enraged produce manager is standing twenty feet away and fifteen feet tall, his box of rejected vegetables clutched tightly in one hand and what Chat assumes was once a cucumber in the other.

Why do they always have to get bigger? What is that about?

“You might not carrot all,” Chat says, drawing the man’s attention, “but I’m kind of a big dill.”

The Grosser makes a strangled sound and lets loose the cucumber. It flies right by Chat’s head.

“Don’t beet yourself up, big guy. Nobody’s pear-fect.” A turnip sails by him, followed by a potato. “Find your inner peas!”

Chat cartwheels, leaps, and vaults his way around a barrage of moldy produce as Ladybug circles behind the villain, her yoyo spinning at her side. He’s covered in enough vegetables that he’s basically ratatouille by the time she releases the yoyo, but hey, he’s gotten quite a lot of produce puns in so it hasn’t been a total waste of thyme.

A small blur of red and black circles The Grosser’s legs several times before Ladybug yanks it back, sending the giant toppling to the ground like a felled tree. Cobblestones kick up in his wake and Chat wades through a cloud of dust to get to the grocery box that bounced out of The Grosser’s hand on impact, more than ready to be free of the permeating stench of rotten vegetables.

He grabs the box and tears it easily, the cardboard damp and soggy from spoiled produce. He’s so sure the akuma is in the box that it takes him a full minute to register that no black butterfly emerges.

Well, crap.

The Grosser growls and struggles to push himself up, legs still bound together.

Chat meets Ladybug’s gaze. She shrugs and makes her way to his side.

They watch the man flounder like a fish out of water. A fifteen foot, totally pissed off fish out of water who’s grumbling about people not respecting the delicate nature of peach skin and how to properly handle a tomato.

Chat scratches the back of his neck as his eyes scan the man, trying to find something that could hold the akuma. All of the food is rotten and most of his clothes are torn, so there’s not a whole lot left it could be. “Can you even imagine maintaining a werewolf’s wardrobe? They tear up an entire outfit every time they shift. The replacement costs would be astronomical.”

Ladybug scoffs as The Grosser continues to struggle. “At least they don’t have to wear capes. His nametag?”

His nametag is on his chest, which is currently pressed into the ground under the weight of a behemoth torso. So yeah, “That sounds about right.”

“Lucky charm!”

A giant red lever with black spots falls to the ground beside them. Even he can figure that one out.

“Werewolves’ logic and reasoning abilities are superseded by animal instincts,” Chat says as they work together to wedge the lever under the squirming, cursing villain. He notices that she’s finally broken a sweat. He’s broken like eight or nine, but whatever. That’s cool. “Vampires are brilliant masterminds.”

“Who subsist solely on human blood,” she returns, clearly disgusted. She jumps on the end of the lever. It doesn’t even budge. Her frown of frustration is objectively adorable.

“At least they have opposable thumbs,” he argues, jumping up beside her. It still doesn’t budge.

“Which they won’t be using to peel a banana.” She points at a lamppost right behind them and he hops off the lever.

“Lettuce leave produce out of this.” He crosses behind her and calls for Cataclysm. His fingers curl as he swipes at the base of the post. He watches as it blackens and shrivels and the top teeters briefly before crashing down. It lands on the lever, sending the other end up and flipping The Grosser onto his back. Ladybug dodges angry, giant arms and yanks the nametag from his apron, snapping it in half with ease. A black butterfly flutters out.

“Werewolves drool and shed,” he says as he watches her capture the butterfly, purifying it with her yoyo.

“They have a pack,” she defends. “They’re never without support.”

“They socialize by sniffing each other’s butts.”

She spares him a sideways glance, the cleansing light that swirls around her illuminating her features. “That is absolutely untrue.”

“Prove it.”

She laughs, bright and clear, as Paris rights itself. “Right after you prove that vampires can turn into bats.”

Together they hoist the lever up into the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

* * *

 

“So what is it,” she asks without turning around, his entrance apparently not as stealthy as he thought it was, “about werewolves that offends you so?”

He slides down into her room. “They’re wolves.”

Marinette twists to face him, the backlight from her desk lamp turning her into little more than a silhouette. A super cute silhouette. “And?”

“And wolves are basically wild dogs.”

“So?”

“So, I’m a cat.” He drops onto her chaise, his pose as feline as he can make it. “I don’t like dogs.”

She pushes out of her chair and crosses over to him, perching on the edge beside his hips. Her hair is mussed and her cheeks are pink and it’s only been an hour but he’s missed her desperately. “But you do like undead, bloodsucking murderers?”

“I try not to pre-judge an entire species.” He slips his hand into hers, his thumb tracing the back of her hand. He can't feel her skin through his gloves and it seems like a crime. “Claws in.”

Bright green engulfs them and Plagg zips away, heading straight for the plate of cheese Marinette has set out on her desk.

She smiles and uses her free hand to sweep his hair out of his eyes. “How noble of you.”

“Are you ready for the ultimate question?”

“You mean vampires versus werewolves wasn’t it?”

He grins and shakes his head.

“Well?”

“Which are better: kisses or hugs?” Adrien tugs her hand and pulls her forward so that she falls on top of him.

She laughs as he presses his lips to hers, gentle and sweet. When she pulls back she’s still smiling.

“Kisses,” he says.

She drops her head to his chest and tucks her arms around him. He wraps his around her back. “No, definitely hugs.”

“You sure?”

She nuzzles into him. “I’m sure.”

“Hmm...” he adjusts their position a little, scooting down on the chaise enough so that his lips can reach their target. He places slow, wet kisses where her shoulder meets her neck and she shivers. Goosebumps blaze a path across her skin. “You sure?”

She hums. “This may require further research.”

“I thought you might say that.”

Across the room, Plagg grumbles something about teenage hormones. Tikki giggles.

“Hey, Mare?” His words are muffled by her skin but he can't bring himself to pull away.

“Hmm?”

“If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cutecumber.”

She groans, but her arms tighten around him. “Oh, kale no.”


End file.
